


Caught In A Yarn

by SouthernLynxx



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gen, Gift Fic, Hosea Knows What's Up, Light-Hearted, Short & Sweet, arthur is a good egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernLynxx/pseuds/SouthernLynxx
Summary: Arthur discovers pieces of his and John’s misadventure throughout the day. Dutch filling in Hosea with a laugh and flourish of his wrist. Mary-Beth whispering details to Abigail and Sadie like it’s some coveted secret. The Reverend throwing an arm around his shoulder as he staggered under the weight of his inebriation to preach about‘bad business’.
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	Caught In A Yarn

**Author's Note:**

> A small gift fic for [@Dumbcowboahs](https://dumbcowboahs.tumblr.com/) on tumblr who was the driving force behind this fun and silly concept. Obviously John isn't an idiot, but it is fun to pick on him now and then! 

“C’mon Marston, we’re already late,” Arthur sighs, more exasperated than irritated as he feels the other man’s glare against his back. 

“I’m goin’ as fast as I can, Morgan, ain’t easy when you can barely see.” 

Arthur snorts. 

“You got another eye, don’t you?” he reins his black shire to a stop, letting Old Boy sidle up on his right. From this side he can only see John’s wounded eye, black and swollen shut with an irritated scab cutting through his eyebrow. John turns to scowl at him.

“You ever tried shootin’ with one eye? Everything ain’t where you think it is!” he protests irritably, and Arthur rolls his eyes. 

“Would you like me to lead you back like it’s your first pony ride?” he teases, reaching for John’s reins only to have his hand slapped away. Arthur barks out a laugh, nudging Fen into a walk as John cusses at him. “Lighten up, cowboy, we’re almost there anyhow,” he smirks.

John grimaces, letting Old Boy wander unguided alongside the shire as he holds onto the pommel of his saddle. 

“Great. Dutch is gonna be pissed.”

“Naw,” Arthur objects. “We’re only half a day later than expected, and we was only scoping out a house, hardly anythin’ for Dutch to bother worrying about.” 

“Maybe for  _ you. _ You can come and go a week at a time and Dutch don’t even bat an eye. If I’m gone for longer than two days I get a bollocking, from Dutch  _ and _ Abigail!” John complains, his frustration evident. Arthur smirks at him.

“Maybe that’s ‘cause I have a track record of actually  _ coming back,” _ he points out, though it lacks any of the heat that had once come with any inference to John’s year-long absence. 

“Fuck off, Arthur,” John grumbles, and Arthur acquiesces, letting the man have a moment’s peace before they break through the tree line to their current camp, idylicly placed alongside Flat Iron Lake. 

“It’s me and John,” Arthur calls as Sean’s head pops out from behind one of the trees, hat askew from where he’d likely been dozing. “You better not have been sleepin’, boy,” he warns as they amble past.

“Me? ‘Course not, Mr Morgan, never would I!” the Irishman beams. Then he claps eyes on John. “Christ almighty, what happened to yer face?” 

Arthur bites back a grin as John’s hands tighten on the reins, refusing to humour the younger man. He retains his tight-lipped silence until they’re pulling up to the hitching posts. 

“Arthur, there you are, son.”

Arthur turns in surprise as Dutch calls out to him, crossing the camp towards them He casts John a brief questioning glance, ignoring the smug look he gets in response. 

“Uh, sorry we’re late, Dutch,” he starts hesitantly, only for Dutch to wave him off. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I know you have everything handled,” he assures, and Arthur has to bite back a grin as he feels John bristle on the other side of Old Boy, likely glaring daggers over his mount’s back. “I need you to run a little errand for me. I know you just got back but I would rather it be someone I trust.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Arthur agrees, accepting the letter Dutch slips him. He glances at the address and gives a low whistle. “Carmody Dell, ‘bit of a ride. Won’t be back ‘til dark I reckon,” he tucks the letter into his breast pocket. 

“Thank you, Arthur. Be safe.” He pats Arthur’s shoulder before the younger outlaw hauls himself back onto Fen, the stallion huffing deeply at the change of plan.

“I know, sorry boy,” he says with a pat to the beast’s broad neck. “C’mon, ‘git,” he orders with a click, steering the horse around and back out of the clearing.

He only just catches Dutch’s concerned “John, my boy, what happened to your face?” before he’s thundering along the trail.

**\---**

Arthur doesn’t return until late in the evening, legs aching and back stiff from the long ride. Even Fen seems to give a hefty sigh of relief when his saddle is finally removed.

I know, boy,” he soothes, running the brush along the horse’s broad back and flank to brush away any lingering dust and sweat. There are burrs he will need to pick out of the stallion’s coat in the morning, or have Kieran do it, but for the moment he placates his mount with a few peppermints and sends him off to graze.

There are only a few people still up and clustered around the campfire, but rather than join them as he usually would, Arthur finds himself lured to the comfort of his cot. 

He’s asleep within moments of resting his head. 

**\---**

Arthur wakes to the sound of quiet morning activity around the camp, informing him he’s risen a little later than usual. He sits up with a groan, stretching out the stiff muscles in his shoulders and neck as he stands and meanders to his shaving kit. As he swipes the blade neatly down his cheek, he glances over to John’s tent, seeing the front still laced shut. Likely still licking his wounds, Arthur guesses. He could only imagine the grief the gang had given him for such a wound on a surveillance mission of all things.

Patting his face dry and picking up his hat, he wanders over to the smouldering fire that housed the stewpot and the coffee percolator. He can already see Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen clustered around the fire as usual, coffee cups already in hand as they speak. Arthur can’t begin to imagine what they already have to talk about so early in the day. 

“-but it would be quite like him, don’t you think, to do that for a child? Acting all big and brutish like he does, it’s all an act.” Mary-Beth murmurs conspiratorially to the other women. They seem to mull over this before Tilly spots him approaching. She straightens so sharply she jostles the others, and greets him with a loud and chipper: “Arthur! Good morning, how are you?”

Arthur tips his hat, regarding the women curiously. “I’m well, Miss Tilly, thank you for asking. How are you ladies?” 

“Relieved,” Mary-Beth gushes, missing how Tilly and Karen wearily roll their eyes.

“Relieved, you say?” Arthur hums, stooping down to pour himself some coffee. 

“Yes! After what happened on your mission with John. We’re glad you’re both back in one piece, but we understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about it,” she adds in a more hushed, sympathetic tone. Arthur frowns, about to question her further when Karen interjects.

“What we’re sayin’ is, everyone makes mistakes, even you, Arthur, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. God knows Bill can hardly put one foot in front of the other most days.” That sends the women into fits of giggles, before Tilly nudges them in warning.

“Oh shoot, here comes Miss Grimshaw, we best scoot along.” 

Bemused, Arthur watches as the women hurry away, still muffling their laughter. Taking a burning mouthful of coffee, he swallows it thoughtfully, then releases a slow, long-suffering sigh shortly after.

**\---**

Arthur discovers pieces of his and John’s misadventure throughout the day. Dutch filling in Hosea with a laugh and flourish of his wrist. Mary-Beth whispering details to Abigail and Sadie like it’s some coveted secret. The Reverend throwing an arm around his shoulder as he staggered under the weight of his inebriation to preach about  _ ‘bad business’.  _

He listens to the spiel about the old, ominous colonial manor house hidden deep in the swamp. The eerie sounds which had emanated from the structure throughout the night, the cracks which crawled like creeping fingers up the old columns. The distorted figures which would stand at the window for hours at a time. 

It wasn’t necessarily untrue. The manor was old and secluded, hidden away from any sign of civilisation, and the sounds of the house settling in the tepid night air after a day in the blazing sun had certainly made their evenings tense. Yet, while Arthur had encountered some...interesting characters in these circumstances, Arthur hadn’t recalled seeing any figures lingering in the windows, especially for  _ hours. _ He’d never known John to be quite one for embellishment. 

He’s wandering into camp later that evening, journal tucked against his side after a few hours of writing and sketching on the pier, when he spots the regular gathering at the campfire. John sits among them, gesturing and apparently in the midst of a tale. Intrigued, Arthur stops by his tent to tuck away his journal before he meanders over.

His approach is noticed first by John, who trails off from his current spiel as Arthur is gradually illuminated by the fire. It doesn’t take long for the others to notice and turn to look. 

“Well if it ain’t Arthur Morgan, coming to thank his saviour no doubt!” Bill hollers, slapping his knee to the accompanying snorts of laughter. 

“I gotta say, I was surprised to hear what happened, not like you to be fooled like that,” Lenny adds. Arthur glances at him before fixing his gaze on John with a raised eyebrow, watching as the scarred outlaw grew paler and paler, even in the warm light of the fire.

A figure shifts forward with a toothy grin, but the expression is one of seedy elation. “Yeah, Morgan. Why don’t you tell us what happened? Maybe you can salvage some dignity,” Micah presses. Arthur snorts, tucking his thumbs into his belt with an easy posture. He doesn’t take his eyes off John. 

“Naw,” Arthur says with a shake of his head. “John tells it better.” He looks challengingly at his younger companion, and John clears his throat, knowing he’s in no position to refuse with Arthur looming over him and multiple pairs of eyes watching on expectantly.

“So, uh. So, yeah, we were...scouting out this old mansion, middle of that godforsaken swamp. And it’s dark, we’d been scoutin’ it two days now, and we’re thinkin’ it could be an easy enough mark. We’re just gettin’ ready to go when...when we hear what sounds like a child…” He clears his throat, glancing at Arthur who merely nods for him to continue, his lip curling upwards. “Sounded like a young thing, y’know? And I’m a bit suspicious, a child suddenly out in the swamp at night? But Arthur, y’know what Arthur’s like.” His stilted laugh is drowned out by the good humoured chuckling, and Arthur even spares Lenny a smirk as the younger knocks his leg with a loose, playful fist from his spot on the ground. 

“Anyway. Arthur, he charges off, and I go after him. And I get there in time to see Arthur comforting this child and this guy coming out the bushes behind him. I’m able to shoot him before he can do anything. A second guy hits me, right in the face with his gun. He got a bullet from me, though.”

“And the child?” Karen asks. 

“Oh, him. He uh, he ran away. Part of the trap, I think,” he replies haltingly, scratching at his cheek. “So yeah, that...that was that,” he shrugs, keeping his eyes downcast. Arthur can feel eyes on him from all across camp, even those not sitting at the fire, waiting eagerly for his verdict.

He scratches his chin and bobs his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he rumbles, smirking as John’s head snaps up and the surrounding group burst into surprised shouts and playful ribbing. 

With a short laugh, Arthur waves them off, heading to grab himself a beer. As he claims a bottle from the crate, he spots Hosea under the tree in the centre of the camp, watching the renewed uproar at the fire following Arthur’s revelation.

He joins his father figure in the shadows, taking a long draw from his bottle.

“So,” Hosea hums. “What really happened?”

“We were hiding in a bush when a spider crawled on him.”

“He hit himself in the face?”

“With his gun,” Arthur deadpans. 

“Now that’s more like it,” Hosea says with a grin that Arthur can’t help but match.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit always welcome (:


End file.
